Whisper
by Dawnfrost96
Summary: What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened...it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now.


**Yes, yes, I know. I should be working on **_**Unwritten**_** seeing as I haven't updated in over a week. But oh, how I hate plot bunnies. They hop around in your head, creating stories and ideas, and annoy the crap out of you until you finally sit down and type them up. And that is what this is. It's sort of experimental, though. I just want to see what people think of it, and I don't know if I should continue. Yes, it's a little long for a prologue, and it's a little confusing, sorry. I seem to be pretty good at confusing people. :)**

**Enjoy, hopefully.**

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><p><em><strong>~Prologue~<strong>_

"_What you need to know about the past is that no matter what has happened, what you have said or what you have done, all the choices you have made and the cats' lives you have touched, it has all worked together to bring you to this very moment. And this is the moment you can choose to make everything new. Right now."_

Sharp, biting, bitter cold. Numbed paws, ice cutting into flesh, all feeling fading into nothing. He can't see. He can't think. It's so dark, and so cold. _Always_ cold. All he's ever known is cold. And it hurts. It hurts so much, but he can't stop the pain. All he can do is walk…

How did he get here? Where did he come from? Why doesn't he _know_? So many questions and no answers. Just the fierce shriek of the piercing wind, the crunch of his paws as he pushes through snow, not sure where he's going or how long it will take to get there. Nothing but cold.

And the Whispers_. _Always the Whispers.

"_Don't think of the past. The only thing that matters is the everlasting present."_

He shivers and lifts his head, his eyes half-closed against the driving wind and snow as he walks. Ahead, the white landscape stretches into darkness; into an empty oblivion. Above it is black, the inky darkness dotted with white as the snow and ice swirls and dances in the tempest. For a moment, he is mesmerized, forgetting the cold and cutting wind as he tilts his head upwards to watch, his mouth parted slightly in wonder. But then sharp stabs of pain shoot through his legs, and the Whispers return.

"_Keep moving."_

He winces at the voice. Head down and legs trembling, he does as he's told.

Why can't he remember anything? He just knows that he awoke in the snow, soaked to the bone and alone in an empty world of snow and wind. Where is he? How did he get here? How long has he been walking? He doesn't remember ever falling asleep. He doesn't even know his own name…

More pain suddenly stabs up from his paws and into his legs; icy shards of agony that falter his step and send him sprawling on top of the snow, a tortured cry of pain leaving his lips. He lies there, shivering and gasping, the darkness closing in from around him, a strange noise roaring in his ears. He struggles to stand, but the attempt sends another sharp stab of pain through his paws and he crumbles, defeated, back into the never-ending blanket of snow.

He lies there for a moment, each labored breath sending an icy stab of pain straight into his lungs. He doesn't want to die. He _can't _die. The Whispers send quiet murmurs through his mind, urging him forward, speaking of safety and warmth farther ahead. He has to keep going.

The tom stretches his front paws out in front of him and digs his claws deep into the snow, pulling himself forward. He drags himself across the icy ground, his teeth gritting and his eyes squeezed tightly shut against the sharp pains that stab his legs as he moves, slowly, forward. He knows that if he does not get where the Whispers want him to be, he will die.

His paws suddenly touch something different; something he knows is _not _snow. He hesitates for a moment, unsure. He has known nothing but snow. He didn't know there was anything else. But then a memory bubbles up from the void in his mind, creating a word for the strange substance beneath his paw.

_Grass._

The pain spurs him on. He drags himself onto the grass, collapsing immediately on the damp ground. His chest heaves and his legs ache with pain, but he doesn't care. For the first time since he can remember, he is warm. The Whispers are gone, and he is somewhere safe, somehow blocked from the wind and absent of snow. But the darkness continues to consume him, closing in from behind, above, around, ahead; his mind slipping into nothingness.

And for the first time since he can remember, he sleeps.

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><p><strong>Again, this is experimental. Please tell me if you like it or if you don't. If I get at least five positive reviews, I'll start working on the next Chapter which, in case it annoys you like it does me, will not be in present tense like the prologue. :P<strong>

**Thanks!**


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